Silver Scarlet
by Kurarisa
Summary: When it all gets too much for Bakura, comfort comes from an unlikely quarter... In mature for goryness. Yaoi content over here, y'all.


_WARNING!! HEAVY THEMES OF SELF-HARM!! AND YAOI!! LOTS AND LOTS OF YAOI!!_

_I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!. That honor goes to Takahaki-sensei. If I did own it, there would be a lot more Marik. And Bakura. And less Pegasus -shudders-._

_Right, thats the disclaimer done. Have fun reading, and I will warn you now: They go VERY OOC at the end. But meh._

_Dedicated to Maria, my faithful commenter on Mibba dot com and inspiration to keep assaulting your eyes with my shameless dribble._

_Yes, this is the re-write. I like this version waaaaay better, the ending reads so much more fluidly. The last one was all.... blaah. Don't worry, I've still got the old one in backup if you want that one back. But for now, here's the new version. Which I like far better. _

Silver. Scarlet. Silver. Scarlet.

Blade. Blood. Blade. Blood.

A shuddering sob rang through the tiny room as Bakura, strong, unshakeable Bakura, added yet more cuts to the scabs and scars already littering his arms. Pearly white droplets fell from cinnamon eyes, falling through air alongside the crimson ones, staining the already filthy bedcover. Not that the thief ever slept anymore.

He paused, the blade, stolen from a Stanley knife, a millimetre from his lacerated skin, looking at it as if he had never seen it before. Slowly, he lifted it from his arm and stared at it, half in wonder, half in disgust. The whole thing was caked in blood, some of it dried to almost black, some still fresh from the vein, startlingly red against what silver still showed through. He ran a fingertip along the edge. Getting dull, he noted mentally. Have to get a new one soon. Deciding to save the edge for another day when he'd need it again, the thief hid the blade in its usual place in the spine of Angels and Demons and, noticing that the blood was pouring from his veins quicker than it usually did, stepped through to the bathroom and, sliding down the wall to sit agaisnt the cool tiles, absentmindely wrapped his arm in a towel, disgusted at his own weakness.

Suddenly, heavy feet outside the closed bathroom door reminded him forcefully of the second presence in the apartment. Marik. Shit. Bakura tried frantially to get everything in order before the ivory haired teen no doubt shove through the door, not caring what was going on on the other side of said door. But the burst never came. Instead, the steps stopped suddenly, accompanied by curious mutterings, then heavy pounding on the door.

"Bakura! Why is there blood on the floor?" The high, scratchy voice rang out, carrying through the door. Bakura tried to think on his feet, difficult with the blood loss.

"Is there? I dunno, maybe... the Pharaoh had a nosebleed again? You know what he's like with ecchi."

"Don't try and fool me, thief, what's going on in there?!"

"Nothing, okay?" He tried to put as much venom into his words as he was used to using without thinking, but they betrayed him and came out mangled by a sob. He could see Marik jumping back from the door at the sound.

"Seriously, Bakura, are you okay in there?" The other boy's voice seemed foreign, more like Marik's lighter half than the twisted yami, his tone thick with genuine worry. "Can I come in?"

"No, don't!" Bakura tried to protest, but the door swung open anyway, allowing Marik to pass through it. His eyes fell on the crumpled thief in his position across the room, his back against the wall and the once-white towel around his lacerated arm now bright crimson, and immediately clouded with an unreadable emotion. He crosssed the room in two steps, kneeling on the tiled floor beside his friend.

"Shit, Baku, what'd you do to your arm? People don't bleed that much." He observed. Bakura's words, a denial of knowledge, came out muffled by tears that would not be allowed to fall. "What happened, Dorobou... Tell me!"

"Nothing..." Bakura tried to assert, only causing Marik's eyesbrows to go up in disbelief. Defeated, he sighed heavily."I just... It all gets a bit too much sometimes, you know?" Marik's jaw dropped.

"You did this to yourself?!" he cried in shock. "Holy Hathor-fucking Ra in Heaven, Bakura, are you RETARDED?!" Bakura didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the drop of blood that fell from the fabric every now and again, smiling weakly to himself at Marik's choice of curses. "Let me see..."

"You really think I'm going to let you--"

"Show me!" Not having the strength to argue any further, Bakura let the material fall to the floor with a kind of splat, revealing his "collection". Marik's eyes nearly exploded from his skull.

The whole of Bakura's right forearm was covered in scars, some old, some new, some not even scabs yet. Crisscrossing each other, some obviously part of a pattern, others random. There were even a few runes carved into the skin, which Marik knew from Isis as being Uruz and Inguz, the symbols for strength and new beginnings. Wordlessly, he reached over the thief for his other arm, pulling back the sleeve, to be greeted with the same sight. Except the runes on this side were reversed. Weakness and being trapped in the past. The pair sat in silence for a few more moments.

"Holy Ra, Bakura..." Marik exploded suddenly. "Why would you do something like that?!" Bakura shrugged. "Don't fucking lie to me, you know perfectly well why! Now spill!"

"You wanna know the truth, Marik?" the thief yelled, suddenly springing to his feet. Marik mimicked the movement, glaring back at Bakura with pure venom.

"Yeah, I do! Fucking tell me!"

"I can't stand it!" the other all but screamed. "I can't stand being away from him, for five Ra-damned thousand years I was alone, and then He comes along, and makes me feel... wanted! Wanted, for fuck's sake!" Marik's jaw dropped further with every word. He couldn't be talking about... Ryou? "And now... Since we've been separated, ever since I got my own fucking body back, I just feel so empty! Like half of me's gone, and left this massive, gaping hole, and nothing can fill it! I need someone, Marik! Never, in my whole pitiful existence have I ever needed someone! I just feel so fucking WEAK!" And without another word, Bakura, strong, unshakeable Bakura, thumped against the wall, slid down till he sat on the floor, buried his head in his knees and cried as if every tear that had ever been shed had collected inside of one person. Awkwardly, Marik laid an arm across his friend's shoulders, waiting till the tears had subsided and the bloodflow clotted and dried. Only then did he speak.

"Why d'you do it, Bakura?" he questioned quietly. "Nothing is worth hurting yourself over... Other people, sure, but, never, ever yourself. You could have come and talked to me, sure I'd have thrown a chair at you, but you think I don't feel that way? Or Atemu?" Slowly, the white head lifted from its place on the dirty denim-clad knees as Bakura turned his chocolatey eyes to stare into Marik's lavender ones. "We've all lost our hikaris, Kura, and believe it or not, it hurts me too. It's different for you, you've experienced your own body before, no matter how long ago... All I am is an extension, born from agony and loneliness. At least you... you know how to deal with it..." He cut the words off before his own tears spilled over, blinking them away. Regret clouded the thief's face.

"I know, Marik, I know I can never feel what you feel, but it still hurts, you know? It hurts so much, and I just--"

"Shut up and kiss me, Bakura." Marik cut in bluntly. The remorse screening Bakura's face suddenly gave way to shock, incredulity, even... hunger. But he did not move. "Fine, if you're too much of a coward to do it..." And, wthout waiting for a reaction, his lips slammed into Bakura's with such ferocity that he felt the spirit's breath hitch in his throat. Smirking into the kiss in victory, Marik attempted to wind his fingers into the white hair, but firm hands on his chest forced him away to see Bakura glaring at him with the purest loathing.

"You fucking..."

"What? Fucking what, Bakura? Jeez, I try to help you when you're bleeding to death, I stay with you to make sure you don't do it again and all I get is fucking slander?!"

"You know what I mean..." Bakura growled dangerously, dragging Marik closer to him roughly. "I'm a thief, I don't give things away... I take what I want."

"And you want... what, exactly?" Marik purred, sliding cat-like till he sat straddling the thief, his mood taking a dramatic 180.

"Holy Ra..." Bakura rolled his eyes. "It's like talking to a temple girl. Right, here's a clue- " With a smirk on his lips and a glimmer of the old Bakura in his eyes, he grabbed Marik by the hair and dragged their lips together. In seconds tongues were fighting for dominance, breath sweeping over the other's face as fingers tangled in hair. They spent so long like that, kissing as if the world would end, that Bakura began to feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Reluctantly forcing Marik away from him, their breath ragged and their lips bruised, he suddenly noticed how beautiful his eyes were: shimmery violet, with tiny specks of gold around the pupil. Marik laughed, slightly breathless.

"Good clue. How many guesses do I get?"

"Let's go for three, I'm feeling generous after that little workout," Bakura muttered with an uncharacteristic chuckle, tracing tiny circles on the ivory-haired boy's collarbone with a fingernail.

"So I'm 'work' now, am I?" Marik mock-pouted.

"You know what I mean... And don't do that. It just makes me what to jump you even more." Marik laughed again, the sound, which had once grated Bakura's nerve's to breaking point, now the second most beautiful sound in the world. The first... well, he'd get to that later.

"Nothing's stopping you, dorobou, least of all me," he smriked, winding one of the pure white spikes of hair around his fingers. "Just answer me one question..."

"And this question is...?" Bakura challenged.

Marik smirked again, leaning in so his breath tickled his new lover's ear._ "Bottom or top?"_

_Yeah, I told ya they kinda go a little OOC at the end... but meh, who cares. Psychofluff is Psychofluff. ... can it possibly be fluff when it's Marik and Bakura we're talking about? Again I say- meh._

_If you review this, I will never stop loving you. Honestly, it's more likely that Jou stops staring at Mai's chesticles. -end shameless beg for attention- I like concrit as well as concom._

_And Maria? I want feedback from you especially. _

_Ew, when I type in the dark you can see the veins on teh backs of my hands. Ew. _


End file.
